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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699158">blood and bone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfleur/pseuds/moonfleur'>moonfleur</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Assassination, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spies &amp; Secret Agents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:40:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfleur/pseuds/moonfleur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where touching your soulmate for the first time leaves a brand on your skin, Mark is perfectly content to live life without one. </p><p>Then he meets Jaemin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Jeno/Mark Lee, Mark Lee/Na Jaemin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Challenge #3 — soulmates</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>blood and bone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1osmLrdlTSwEkKBxm1Wtqq?si=ZfoENrIYQgOYraFS8AyQhw">this</a> ♡</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mark doesn’t remember a time where it wasn’t him and Jeno. His earliest memories are of the two of them — sprawled in the sand of the playground near their homes, dirt-streaked and trying their best to hide behind each other as their mothers berate them for getting so dirty, sneaking cookies from Jeno’s cookie jar into his room in the middle of the night so that they could eat under the covers and pretend they were camping, the feel of Jeno pressed against him, hand in his the first time their mothers let them have a sleepover. </p><p>The memories following that are hazier, blending into a multi-coloured blur of seasons and years — how blue the sky had been on their first day of school; the way it had rained, bleak and grey, the day of their elementary school graduation; the burst of yellow when Jeno had threaded their fingers together the summer after despite them being sticky with ice cream. </p><p>There was no part of Mark’s life that Jeno hadn't been, his fingerprints left all over the shelves of it, pressed into the spines of his memories. Jeno knew him more than he knew himself. It was this reason alone that Jeno’s name fell from his lips the first time someone asked him who he thought his soulmate was. Even in a world where you were only fifty percent likely to find your other half, the numbers having dwindled steadily over the past couple of decades. And yet, Mark had been so sure when he had answered, so sure that when they finally touched the day they’re <em>both</em> eighteen, he would find their marks branded into their palms, had already planned that the first place they would touch would be their palms so that their marks would be matching.</p><p>Instead, the day after Mark’s birthday had come and gone with not a brand in sight, not even when he’d insisted on holding Jeno’s hand for the majority of the day (much to Jeno’s amusement). What they had gotten, however, was an offer: to join the training programme at The Agency following their graduation. And so they did, trading one type of brand for another, one type of life for another. But still together.</p><p>That was how they became MarkandJeno, inseparable, despite the fact that Jeno had chosen to go down the Ops route while Mark had gone into Field Training. Inseparable because Mark did the best every time they let Jeno handle him, Jeno called the shots and Mark listened, unwavering, because he was Jeno and that was all that mattered. </p><p>🗡</p><p>“Na Jaemin.” That is the first thing Director Kim says the minute they step into the room, Mark’s eyes still bleary from having rushed out of their room half-asleep after a rap on the door had woken them declaring them needed in the briefing room.  Mark isn’t even sure he’s wearing the same shoes at the moment. Two years of being in the field and Mark still cannot bring himself to get out of bed fast enough. Jeno, however, looks perfect, like he’d somehow managed to put himself together in the scant thirty seconds they’d had. Although, Jeno always looks perfect to him. </p><p>“He is your next target,” Director Kim continues, slamming a file of considerable thickness onto the gleaming hardwood desk. He pulls out several photos, all of them of a ridiculously pretty young man  with a ridiculously wide smile. He is dressed in what looks like a chef’s uniform in most of them — at the front of his store, behind the counter, outside in a nearby alley, cigarette between his fingers. Mark frowns. He looks harmless. “Bastard son of a major Conglomerate empire. Spends most of his time working at his bakery.” The Director pulls out more photos, this time of the same man getting into various vehicles — all different, all expensive. He’s not dressed in a chef’s uniform anymore either, choosing mainly silk shirts in favour of the white linen. “We think he’s been doing deals with the local drug rings. Hell, he might even be the supplier.” He looks up, looks at Mark. “I want you to find out who he’s working with and then take him out.”</p><p>Mark looks down at the photos again, at the young man who can’t be much older than them and something in him shifts, gears clicking, falls into place. He swallows, steeling himself before he looks back at the Director and nods.</p><p>🗡</p><p>It’s their first night in their new agency-issued apartment, picked out for it’s perfect view of the bakery across the street. Jeno had spent most of the day setting up his equipment — the wall facing the bakery is now lined with every type of computer imaginable and then some, the displays showing the feeds of every single security camera between the bakery and Jaemin’s registered address. Mark is thankful they have a separate bedroom because there is no way he would have been able to sleep with the blue-light of the monitors lighting up the entirety of their living area despite all their lights being off.</p><p>Jeno is a warm, solid weight against his back — almost too warm right now, during the tail-end of Seoul’s summer — his arm thrown lazily around Mark’s waist as he nuzzles closer. “What are you thinking about?” He asks softly, his breath ghosting over the nape of Mark’s neck in a way that has all of his hair standing. Mark lets out a breath before turning around to face him, wrapping his own arm around Jeno’s waist and pulling him until they are flush, chest to chest, bare skin on bare skin. He leans in to press his lips to Jeno’s, soft, chaste. “Tomorrow.”</p><p>Jeno laughs and it is music to Mark’s ears, low, and deep, and warm. Familiar. It settles the strange buzzing in Mark’s chest. “Are you nervous? The great Mark Lee, nervous about an op?” Jeno’s grin is blinding even in the darkness of the room and it takes all of Mark’s willpower not to kiss it off his face. </p><p>Instead, he delivers a swift pinch to Jeno’s waist, which works just as well. “Shut up. I’m allowed to be nervous.”</p><p>Jeno’s grin only widens, becomes teasing and Mark already knows what’s coming. “Is it because he’s pretty?”</p><p>Mark groans, burying his head in Jeno’s chest, which sets Jeno off again, laughter rumbling through him and into Mark where he is pressed against him. “What?” Jeno continues even though his hand has started to rub circles into the skin of Mark’s waist as his own form of recompense. “It’s okay to think he’s pretty, you know? I don’t mind.” He leans in to whisper conspiratorially into Mark’s ear. “I think he’s pretty too.”</p><p>“Then you flirt with him,” Mark grumbles into Jeno’s chest.</p><p>Jeno lets out a breath of laughter before reaching to cup Mark’s face and bring him back up so that he can press a kiss of his own to Mark’s lip. “Unfortunately, that’s not my job. I will, however, have all of your attempts on record.” He taps the cheekbone below Mark’s left eye where the optic camera will be when Mark is out in the field. “Maybe we can watch it over Christmas or something.”</p><p>“I hate you.”</p><p>“You love me,” Jeno retorts, releasing Mark only to push him back against the mattress so he can clamber on top of him in a movement so swift Mark barely registers it until Jeno is hovering over him and then Mark barely registers anything else. Jeno leans forward, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Now, how about I take your mind off it, hm?” </p><p>And Mark lets himself be pulled apart.</p><p>🗡</p><p>Jaemin is a star. That is the only thing that comes to mind when Mark walks into the door of the bakery — very aptly titled Nana’s Sweets — and Jaemin greets him with a smile brighter than the sun. Where Jeno’s smile is comfort and warmth, Jaemin’s is nothing short of dazzling, even if he is half-covered in flour. </p><p>The store itself smells like vanilla and sugar, the decor is white but trimmed in yellow, and everything just kind of looks like icing, like Mark’s just stepped into the candy house and Jaemin is the witch threatening to eat him whole. A thought he promptly shoves into the farthest recesses of his mind. </p><p>“Hi,” Jaemin says, warmth flowing from him like a river and Mark seriously reconsiders his skills as an agent. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Is this your first time at Nana’s?”</p><p>“I— Uh, yeah,” he says, playing up his nervousness as much as possible. If he can’t go for suave he might as well try nervous dork. “I just moved here actually. And, uh, your shop was really pretty so I thought I’d take a look.” He scratches his head, allowing the heat to rush to his ears as he looks up at Jaemin from under his hair. “I don’t actually know much about what you have here.”</p><p>Jaemin laughs, revealing even more teeth (god, is it even humanly possible to have this many teeth?). He wipes his hand on the cloth he has hanging from the pocket of his apron before gesturing for Mark to follow him to the other end of the counter, where the pastries are. “Well, you might want to start here considering it’s like nine in the morning and you look like you could do with something that’s a bit closer to breakfast than it is to dessert.” He nods towards the rows of croissants, tarts and madeleines, laid out neatly underneath the glass. “Take a look. I’ll be back with some coffee.”</p><p>Mark looks up at him, confused, before looking around and noting the lack of a barista or a coffee machine. “Oh, I didn’t know you were a cafe too,” he says dumbly.</p><p>“We’re not,” Jaemin says with a smile, throwing a wink over his shoulder at him as he heads off into what Mark assumes is the kitchen. “But I have my own machine and you look like you could use one.” Jaemin pokes his head out from behind the kitchen door. “Only if I get to join you, of course.”</p><p>Jaemin’s grin is the last thing Mark sees before he disappears into the kitchen and he huffs out a breath, incredulous as he collapses into one of the few chairs placed around the store for dine-in customers. Who would have thought that Jaemin would be interested in him as well?</p><p>In his ear, his earpiece crackles. “<em>Good job Mark Lee.</em>”</p><p>🗡</p><p>Getting Jaemin to fall for him is easy, if their first encounter was anything to go by. Mark falling for him, however, is something he couldn’t have prepared for. Jaemin is magnetic, something about him pulls Mark in every time they meet, and Mark finds himself drawn inexplicably to him. And Jeno knows, because, of course he does, because Mark would never hide something like that from him. He understands too, knows it is a by-product of the job they do and the life they live. An understanding Mark thinks he doesn’t deserve. </p><p>Not when he’s spending days with Jaemin, relaxing in the little corner table he’s taken to be his own with a book he brings to kill time. A postgraduate student on break is what he tells Jaemin, needed the semester off to find himself. A story Jaemin takes to with ruthless enthusiasm, which leads to rounds of interrogation about his university, his friends, his life, and Mark panicking internally while Jeno guides him through the answers in his ear like Mark’s very own internal north star.</p><p>Days turn into weeks as Mark spends his day with Jaemin and his nights with Jeno, nights that he spends kissing apologies into Jeno’s skin for the tug in his chest he feels every time Jaemin looks at him, nights where he convinces himself that it is worth it. </p><p>And it is. Because it only takes two weeks for Jaemin to cave to Mark’s insistent pleas to see the kitchen, much to the displeasure of Jaemin’s best friend and co-chef Renjun who had narrowed his eyes at Mark and told him to keep his hands to himself. Whether that meant off the food or off Jaemin, Mark still doesn’t know.</p><p>Another thing he doesn’t know is the bitterness that rises in his throat when he purposefully scans the kitchen knowing that Jeno is recording everything his lens camera sees, it almost feels dirty, in a way, when Jaemin has the biggest smile on his face as he points out the different cakes in varying stages of preparation. He slips up then, revealing the safe tucked neatly behind one of the drying racks and Mark feels the spark in his eye when Jeno activates the x-ray function of the camera to reveal stacks of cash, more cash than should be owned by a simple baker. Something unpleasant roils in his stomach, sour and bitter, like one of Jaemin’s batters gone rancid. </p><p>For the first time, he leaves early.</p><p>That night, they see Jaemin getting into a car way too expensive for the neighbourhood they live in. Later that night, they watch as the same car drops him off. The next day Mark finds more cash in the safe than the day before, along with bags of what look like flour but is most definitely <em>not.</em> The icing on the cake (hah!) is the burner phone he finds in there too, multiple numbers with only initials saved into it, and the weird feeling in his gut builds and builds. </p><p>He thinks even Jaemin picks up on it, the strange vortex that is whatever the heck he’s feeling, enough that it feels like Jaemin is walking on eggshells around him, treading carefully, trying not to touch as if that’s all it will take for Mark to explode.</p><p>Not that they’ve touched anyway, Jaemin always covered in flour or gloves, or both. And not for the first time, Mark wonders what it would be like to press his lips to Jaemin’s, to close the gap that’s only gotten smaller and smaller each day. </p><p>But it is too late now. Now that he is sitting in Jaemin’s living room, Jaemin pressed into his side, sugar and vanilla wafting up from him as the dagger strapped to Mark’s hip gets heavier and heavier. He leans in to take one last breath, even though he knows there’s no way he will forget the smell of sugar and vanilla, no way that it will never remind him of Jaemin.</p><p>The dagger comes free easily, almost too easily, and he moves to strike. But Jaemin is faster, slipping out of range before pinning Mark’s arm to the sofa. He fixes Mark with a gaze so full of emotion — sadness, hurt, resignation — and yet Mark sees no fear in it. “You knew,” he says softly, his voice breaking on the last word.</p><p>Jaemin smiles, sad. “You’re not exactly subtle, Mark Lee. Besides, you should know better than to think I wouldn’t know if someone broke into my safe.”</p><p>“How long?” Mark asks.</p><p>“I had my suspicions but I didn’t know for sure until today, when you broke into my safe.”</p><p>Mark dips his head, unable to look at Jaemin anymore. “I’m sorry,” he says. <em>For everything.</em> Because they both know that Jaemin isn’t nearly strong enough to keep Mark pinned down, that eventually the time will come and that dagger will find a home in Jaemin’s heart, just like Mark had. </p><p>Jaemin shakes his head. “It’s okay. It’s your job. Besides,” Jaemin’s smile is wry when he looks at Mark. “I’m not a good person.”</p><p>“You’re better than you think are,” Mark whispers, and Jaemin lets out a wet laugh as his eyes fill with tears that Mark already regrets putting there.</p><p>“You don’t know me, Mark. And I guess I don’t really know you either but,” he clutches at the sleeve of Mark’s sweater. “Will you let me do this one thing? I just, I have to know.”</p><p>“Do what?” But Jaemin’s hand is already sneaking up his shirt, careful, and then, without warning he presses his palm over Mark’s heart. The pain is instantaneous, fire coursing through his entire body from where Jaemin’s hand is touching and he feels utterly <em>consumed</em>. He doesn’t know if he screams, he thinks maybe Jaemin does. And then it is gone, like a flame burning out once it’s gone through all its fuel and Mark feels completely spent. </p><p>Jaemin’s hand falls from his chest and Mark knows what he will find if he looks at Jaemin’s palm but he doesn’t, can’t. “I had a feeling,” Jaemin says through heavy breaths. “You felt it too, didn’t you?”</p><p>Mark swallows, looking at everything but Jaemin. “Yeah. Yeah I did.”</p><p>Jaemin lets out a dry laugh, his dark hair falling over his face. “Funny how things work out, huh? Now,” He reaches out to cup Mark’s face, releasing his hand, and Mark leans in reflexively. “Kiss me, Mark Lee.”</p><p>So he does, and slides the dagger into his heart.</p><p>The kiss is salty, from Mark’s tears or Jaemin’s he doesn’t know anymore, all he knows is the press of Jaemin’s lips on his, soft and warm, and the litany of sorrys that spill from his lips as he pulls Jaemin into his arms. </p><p>He plucks the lens out of his eye, tossing it before he takes Jaemin’s hand and flips it over. A lion. Branded into Jaemin’s palm to match the one he knows is branded over his heart. He lets out a choked sob but Jaemin hushes him. “In another life, okay?”</p><p>Then he is gone, the brand fading from red to black as he fades along with it.</p><p>It is Jeno’s voice, warm and sure, that cuts through the haze after, brings Mark back into himself. </p><p>“<em>Come home, Mark.</em>”</p><p>And home Mark goes.</p><p>🗡</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you actually read this, thank you so so much! I am so sorry for putting you through this pain. </p><p>Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!♥︎</p><p>Find me on <a href="http://twitter.com/moonfleur_">twitter</a> or <a href="http://curiouscat.me/moonfleur_">curious cat</a> ♥︎</p></blockquote></div></div>
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